


Seed of Evil

by ladycravenheart (Tauria)



Category: Super Robot Monkey Team Hyper Force Go!
Genre: (sort of), Canon Divergence, Gen, Golden Age spoilers, Mandarin-Centric, Pre-Series, Season/Series 01 Spoilers, Season/Series 04 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 06:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16034852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tauria/pseuds/ladycravenheart
Summary: A whirlpool of incandescent color haunts his dreams every night. He soon finds that this whirlpool is no pool, but a portal. A portal which created their greatest enemy—a portal which left its own mark on him. It calls to him, every night. And its whispers… they make sense. Now, if he could just make his team see reason...





	Seed of Evil

Mandarin dreams.

His suspension tube hums quietly; his cybernetics charging and his body loose and relaxed in the suspension gel. Around him, the other monkeys sleep peacefully; soothingly. Mandarin does not. His brow plates furrow together, their pointed tips nearly touching. His fingers twitch restlessly at his side.

He dreams of a whirlpool of incandescent color. Blobs of shadow dance within it, and he feels his heart race. But he cannot, does not move. He is transfixed; even as his blood pounds and instinct, leftover from a more animalistic time, urges him to run away. His breath quickens in his chest. A darker blob grows in the center. It reaches—reaches—reaches.

And he wakes.

His first instinct is to gasp for air, only to choke on the gel. His fingers scrabble against the side of his suspension tube before they slam on the button. The gel recedes, pumping back into its storage container. The door slides open and Mandarin falls to his knees, gasping for air and hacking up the fluid stuck in his lungs.

He presses his head between his knees and breathes, until each breath comes steady and calm. He leans back against the tube; his head thumping against the glass.

Mandarin picks himself up, dusts himself off, and heads down towards the kitchens. He needs coffee—black, bitter, and strong enough to make his fur grow two inches.

 

"ENOUGH."

Sprx and Gibson jerk away from each other, Gibson's mouth half open and Sprx's face creased with anger.

"Gibson." Mandarin's voice is sharp. " _You_ ," he points a threatening finger at Gibson. "Stop being such a know-it-all and get back to the scans you're supposed to be working on." He turns to Sprx; finger inches from the monkey's snout. "And _you_ , you brainless buffoon, quit distracting our scientist and calibrate the fist rockets."

Sprx opens his mouth. "I just calibrated 'em this—"

"Then work on the brain scrambler."

Sprx shuts his mouth. Gibson has already turned away; his last expression miffed. Sprx looks hurt; his jaw tightening as he turns away and stalks off; fists clenched at his sides.

Mandarin draws up his chin. He feels a vindictive satisfaction. Perhaps, later, he'll regret his harshness—but for now, he is satisfied. There is work to be done, and pithy arguments only get in the way of it. He turns back to the Super Robot's computers. It's nearly time to see Otto about the weapon repairs. He feels himself relax at the thought. Otto's workshop, when it isn't being employed for repairs or construction, is possibly the quietest place on the Robot—save for Antauri's meditation chambers.

Sprx and Nova both blast loud rock music—though Mandarin _swears_ he's heard bubblegum pop coming from Nova's room as well. Sprx plays air guitar or sings along—sometimes both. Otherwise he's polishing his magnets and watching improbable feats of pilotry on television. Nova pounds a punching bag in the corner of her room, or practices her martial arts form. Mandarin is all for improving one's capabilities, but it does little to calm his nerves.

Gibson talks to himself while experimenting—partially for posterity, having ongoing lab recordings in both video and audio format, but partially because it helps him focus. It's annoying to listen to. If he's not doing something scientific or mathematic related, he's probably cooking. (It is, after all, simple chemistry.) Mandarin has been banned from the kitchen after numerous explosions. (He was _not_ the cause of any of them, thank you.)

Antauri's meditation rooms are soothing—silent. Tranquil. Only the gentle stream of water and the visual of mountain peaks obscured by clouds. Afternoons are spent there, in tea and contemplation; discussing philosophy or just sitting in silence. Antauri makes an excellent conversational partner, and holds title for "second favorite" monkey team member. He is also an annoying pain in the tail. But that's what Mandarin gets for assigning him as second-in-command and mediator.

Otto holds his title as "favorite monkey." His comments might be absurd and he might seem a bit slow sometimes, but he's reliable, efficient, and Mandarin rarely—if ever—has to order him around. Otto sees what needs doing; does it; and never even asks to be recognized for it. It's a trait Mandarin admires. But even more than all of that, he's a good listener. And he does, in fact, listen—even if he seems not to be.

Mandarin's schedule goes like this—

The morning begins after breakfast. There's patrol or post-patrol briefing, followed by meeting with Sprx and Otto to discuss the Robot's flight systems. After that is a check in with Gibson, to discuss analysis of any odd findings, or his latest experiments. Sometimes this time slot is replaced with a lecture, where Gibson educates the team on something useful. (Or not.) Training is next. They alternate between one-on-one spars and group training. This is followed by a rest period—which Mandarin chooses to spend with Antauri. Tea, meditation, and calm conversation destresses him enough to be able to make his way to Otto's workshop and check in on projects and then just… sit in silence. Or rant. Whichever he feels like doing.

This week, his routine is all kinds of screwed up.

It started at the beginning of the week when they a species of arachnid non-native to Shuggazoom showed up and started attacking the city. Gibson was able to trace the origins of the creature to a little green jungle planet whose name is simply a jumble of letters and numbers Mandarin can't be bothered to remember. More and more of the things have shown up without a visible origin point, and now, it's time to go track down the source.

But, of course, his team insists on blathering like idiots, and so nothing is getting done. Would it kill them to simply be professionals for once?

 

Mandarin meditates.

He hovers in the lotus position; his hands on his knees and his eyes shut. Around him, water trickles down false waterfalls and through shallow streams. There is the faint tinkle of windchimes—quiet and clear, his own addition to the meditation sessions. The air is cool and almost sweet, and carries with it the faint scent of tea despite none being made yet.

His mind is blessedly clear; empty of all thought and emotion. His relaxed. His shoulders loose and his face lax. Mandarin is at peace.

It doesn't last.

The whirlpool returns. Its colors swirl and dance; tugging at and distorting the shadowy shapes within. There is the cool press of metal against his feet. Buttons flicker off to the side. He can hear voices behind him, and beneath that, quiet whimpering. It all sounds familiar, but if it is a memory, it is one just out of his reach.

His heart speeds up, and he can feel his fingers digging into his knees. But he is powerless to stop it; to leave this vision.

The larger blob returns. The smaller blobs flee at its presence. It grows—grows—grows.

Mandarin sucks in a breath, and summons the will to wrench his eyes open. His heart pounds. A light sheen of sweat coats the skin beneath his fur and gathers around his cybernetics. He looks at Antauri. The black monkey remains peaceful; his face blank and calm.

Mandarin is not sure whether or not he feels relieved. He reaches up a hand to rub his face, and sighs, near silently. He tilts his head back, and surveys the ceiling; pure white tile. He traces the dips and crevices with his eyes, and matches his breathing with his brother's.

Life, it seems, does not intend to be kind.

 

"There are concerns among the team that you've been unusually irritable lately," Antauri says; teacup and saucer floating in front of him. Their meditation session is over, now—not that Mandarin got much benefit from it. It comes time for contemplation, and discussion—and it seems, today, that Antauri wishes to play the mediator.

Mandarin scowls. Days like this he really regrets making Antauri his second. A mediator is necessary in a team of such conflicting personalities... but does he have to be so obnoxious about it? "Shuggazoom is being threatened by an unknown assailant, and our teammates insist on bickering like children instead of doing their jobs."

Antauri's expression does not change. "This is true. But have you considered that, perhaps, everyone is under stress? Some people throw themselves into their work—like Nova, like Otto—while others become argumentative and often unreasonable—like Sprx and Gibson. I am not chiding you for keeping them on task, but… do please consider a gentler method."

Mandarin's lips pinch. "They are not children to be coddled, Antauri. If they cannot do their jobs, they will suffer the consequences for it. Perhaps you ought to pass _that_ onto the others."

Antauri sighs, and levitates his cup to his lips. He grimaces. It is a fleeting and minor expression. The others might not have caught it—but Mandarin does. A bottle of honey from the corner of the tray floats over to Antauri's cup, and a generous amount of squeezed in. A spoonful of sugar and a splash of cream joins it. When he sips again, his shoulders loosen and a hint of a smile plays about his mouth.

Mandarin checks his internal clock. "It's time for me to go," he says. "It was a pleasure chatting with you, as always."

Antauri inclines his head. "Do consider what I've said."

Mandarin's feet touch the floor and he lets the Power Primate recede back within him. He grants Antauri a dismissive wave. "Of course."

 

Mandarin breathes a sigh of relief when he walks into Otto's workshop. Otto is elbows deep into the engine of a ground vehicle; grease and oil staining his arms, torso, and face. Some is even dripping off of his tail. An open toolbox, about the same height as Otto himself, stands open beside him. He appears deep in concentration, and so Mandarin doesn't bother announcing his presence. He settles into the chair Otto had put in here just for him; folding his hands over his stomach and letting out another sigh.

He doesn't know how much time passes before Otto looks over and notices him. Mandarin's eyes are shut, but he can feel Otto's gaze on him.

"You alright?" he asks quietly; his voice rumbling.

Mandarin opens his eyes, and glares at the ceiling. "Fine," he says shortly.

"You've been off for the last couple'a days," Otto says, because none of his teammates can just leave well enough alone. "You sure you're okay?"

Mandarin rolls his eyes. "Yes, Otto. I'm sure."

Otto falls silent, but the question hangs between them. Otto grabs a wrench, twisting something in the mess of wires and parts. Mandarin watches his hands, and then goes back to staring at the ceiling. He groans, and swipes a hand down his face.

"Alright, fine. I'm not... fine." He grimaces. "I've been having these... dreams. Absurd things, but I wake up as if they're nightmares. It's just the stress, I think."

Otto is quiet for a few moments. "We could use a break," he says, finally. "Once we squash these spiders, or whoever is bringin' 'em to Shuggazoom, we should... I dunno. Do something fun."

"A vacation?" Mandarin arches an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Even if it's just to laze around. Shuggazoom might still be attacked, but... we could leave off the training for a few days, don't'cha think?"

Mandarin grimaces. The first response that trickles into his mind is a firm, absolute NO. But... He rubs his forehead. He needs a break. And if he takes one, and doesn't give the rest of the team one, he'll never hear the end of it. "Alright," he says. "Alright. Spiders first."

Otto nods. "Spiders first."

 

Planet 6M3497C is labeled on the screen before them. Gibson stands at the control center, his fingers hovering over the keys as the planetary scan pours information into various boxes, each tethered to the planet with a thin line. Mandarin doesn't bother trying to make sense of any of it. That's Gibson's job. He's good at it, and he'll tell Mandarin what he needs to know to make an informed decision. Albeit with far too many words, but… well. They'll work on that.

Gibson turned from the screen, and Mandarin's attention snapped to him.

"According to this analysis, the spiders' primary habitat seems to be here." He tapped a key and a square appeared over the selected area. It was a yellow green patch towards the northern pole of the planet. "Our mystery adversary would have to journey there to gather the creatures. Examination of the creatures' innards has led me to believe that they have been tampered with. There may be some sort of laboratory on site." Gibson looked to Mandarin.

Mandarin stepped forward. He felt the eyes of his teammates on his back, and puffed up. "Gibson, Antauri, Sprx. The three of you will go on foot and scan the area for a laboratory. Otto, Nova, and I will also journey on foot and look for the largest nest to set-up a stakeout. Communicate frequently. Every hour I want a report or an update or some kind, even if it's just 'We haven't found anything yet.' We will handle this calmly, quietly, and professionally."

He meets each of the team's eyes in turn, and sees them each nod. He doesn't have much faith that his orders will be followed, but he does trust them enough to try—and to accomplish the mission despite that. It's something he hopes to change. They can be better, so much better than this. They can do so much more. He knows it—he knows that they can. He just has to bring it out of them… somehow.

Sprx and Gibson take the helm, guiding the Robot into a smooth landing under Mandarin's watchful eye. They emerge from the Robot. The breeze is cool against his fur; the grass soft to the eye but prickly between his toes. The sky is blue, blue, blue; with only a few puffy clouds in sight, and the sun warms his skin. This whole planet is quiet. Peaceful.

It puts Mandarin on edge.

Antauri turns to Mandarin. "Good luck," he says. "We'll comm in an hour. Or sooner, if we find something."

"I wouldn't count on it," Sprx mutters.

"There's no need to be so pessimistic," Gibson chides. "This planet is absolutely ripe for scientific exploration. Why, I figure we'll find several pieces of scanning equipment—and laboratories! The problem won't be finding something… it will be figuring out which one we're actually looking for!"

"We shouldn't make assumptions." Antauri sounds calm. "We have no idea what we're going to find on this planet, and it is best we go in with an open mind."

The three monkeys disappear into the trees before Mandarin can hear the rest of their conversation. Probably for the best. The idiocy would have set him to snapping again, and Antauri and Otto both would give him a Look.

"This way," Mandarin grunted. He headed towards the mountains in the distance; where the trees began to grow more densely. It was a good thing they had night vision and headlamps. He predicted it was about to get very dark.

 

He wasn't wrong. As they grew closer to the mountains; the trees began to grow dense. Branches interlocked; widening as they stumbled across older and older trees. The leaves fanned together, stacked on top of each other almost, blocking the rays of sun from reaching the ground. Luminescent fungus grew on tree trunks, while the floor was coated in a thick layer of moss.

The worst part wasn't the dark; it was the vines. Mandarin would have to wrap both hands around them just for his fingers to touch… and they were _everywhere_. He'd brought his energy sword out, hacking them away with frustrated grunts to clear a path. Otto's saws whirred occasionally; taking out the ones that Mandarin missed or side-stepped. Nova's weapons aren't equipped to deal with the vines, and so she trails behind them, occasionally pausing to shudder as something slithered past, or flew overhead.

Mandarin barely restrains himself from whirling on her. She is a warrior for Primate's sake, and a fine one! It's ridiculous for her to be so… afraid. He cannot keep himself from sneering. Fear has no place in the strong. It is but a tool to cow the weak, and weed them out from the strong. Nova will learn that, in time. He needs but to bide his time.

Mandarin is patient—despite popular belief. He just has no tolerance for buffoonery—which his team subjects him to on a daily basis. Even Otto is not immune to its charms… though, blessedly, Antauri is.

It's a pity he does not have both of his most trusted allies with him. Nova is a fine warrior, but her anger only feeds his own. They are a volatile combination, and Mandarin is aware enough of this to assign her on separate missions. He prefers to have Antauri, Otto, and/or Sprx at his back—but today, that isn't feasible.

Gibson must go to the lab because he will understand the equipment and what it is for. He will be able to access the systems and explain his findings.

Sprx might not be knowledgeable in the Power Primate, but he is certainly sensitive to it. His instincts are sharp and honed; if something is off or they need to find something important, Sprx can guide them to it.

And... Antauri is there to mediate, plain and simple.

Mandarin is happy not to be in his place. He can only imagine how many arguments the poor monkey has been subjected to and had to stop.

(Better Antauri than Mandarin, if only for sanity's sake.)

The forest soon begins to show signs of the spider's presence. Webs are strung between trees and the scent of decay hangs in the air. Some of the webs hold prey; a low humming revealing them to be, perhaps, giant flies of some sort. There are no signs of the beasts themselves, but each of them draw their weapons regardless.

There is no telling what they are walking into.

Otto and Mandarin work together to slice through the webs; saw and blade swiping in tandem. Nova keeps an eye out above them, watching for the distinctive shape of an arachnid. If Mandarin strained, he could almost hear them; skuttling about in the shadows, crushing branches beneath them, drool or venom leaking down their fangs. Mandarin grimaces, and lightly shakes his head. Bugs and other creepy crawlies have never bothered him. In fact, he's always found something about them slightly fascinating. But he's not keen on their larger cousins. Who needs a spider the size of a hovercar?

 _A world of giant bugs_ , his mind ever-so-helpfully supplies, in a voice that sounds a lot like Gibson. He scowls and slashes through the webs more vehemently.

 

Mandarin is surprised at how far they make it before a spider finally drops down on them. The spider doesn’t look like the ones he’s seen before. The ones on Shuggazoom were… different. The top of the abdomen was covered in a bony shell that looked akin to a skull whose teeth stopped at their necks. They had piercing red eyes; and a little gem at the top of their heads.

The one before him is not so uniquely crafted.

Long hairy legs with entirely too many joints, connected to a dark brown torso. Its head is covered in eight beady black eyes, which size them up hungrily. Drool drips from its mouth in thick whitish globules, dropping onto the ground. Its mandibles click together, and it stays almost unnaturally still.

Otto’s saws whir. Mandarin’s blade and shield let out a low electric hum. Nova growls. Each of them sink into a defensive crouch, holding their weapons before their chests… waiting.

The four stay locked in a stand-off. Mandarin curls his lip in a sneer. Then—the spider lets out an unholy screech and speeds towards them. The monkeys launch off the ground, just barely avoiding the spider’s rampage. Their jetpacks flare to life, and they hover.

The spider stills. Its head turns, as much as it can, and Mandarin knows its looking for them. Otto takes a breath beside him, and Mandarin knows what it is he’s going to do before he does it. He turns, mouth open with the intent to stop him, but Otto is too quick.

“Whirling Destructo Saws!” Otto launches his saws forward; the chains rattling.

Mandarin’s arms lower, and his mouth opens further. Had Otto learned nothing? Their exoskeleton was tough to pierce. You wanted to kill one? You had to attack its vulnerable under—

—the saws slice through the spider’s midsection, and it drops to the floor, its legs curling. Black blood oozes into the moss.

“Guys?” Otto says. “I think this mystery guy is changin’ the spiders.”

Mandarin scowls. “Next time,” he says coldly, “tell me when you’re planning on testing something like that.”

“It’s not like he was going to hurt anything if he failed,” Nova says, crossing her arms. “His saws would’ve bounced off and the spider would have seen us. We’d still’ve been able to kill it.”

“That isn’t the point.” Mandarin’s tone takes on a sharp edge again. “I need to know these things. And you never know what kind of disaster could follow an ill-thought out move.”

Nova opens her mouth to argue, but Otto puts his hand on her shoulder.

“I’ll warn ya next time, Mandarin.”

Mandarin nods stiffly. “Good. See that you do.”

Otto smiles. “Let’s get back to it.”

 

They eventually come to a cave. Its maw is wide and gaping; stalactites and mites like teeth. More webs coat the walls, and empty exoskeletons and bones cover the floor. The three monkeys weave their way through as carefully as possible; ducking under and stepping around the webs wherever possible. It is impossible to avoid stepping on the bones and insect carcasses. The smell of decay is pungent in the air, and shadows hang heavily.

It is creepier than the forest. At least that place had been alive with more than just the skittering of spiders.

They stay low to the ground, ducking under and between the large bones, sticking close to where the shadows hang heaviest. No spiders notice them, or perhaps they do, but are too sated and full to make a move. The cave tunnels twist and turn, winding deeper into the mountain. The air grows cool and damp, and soon, a faint breeze blows.

They come to large cavern. A giant web grows thick overhead, hundreds upon hundreds of spiders milling about. Eggs line the walls, some suspended in web-nests from the ceiling, and others stuck fast to the ground. Little spiders scurry under larger ones. Some carry bodies, rolled up in web, giving them to the smaller spiders, or the elderly.

But the most intriguing thing about the room is not the spiders, nor the webs… but the large pit in the middle.

Mandarin signals for the other two to stay behind, and they duck behind a group of stalagmites. He creeps forward on all fours, towards the pit in the ground. His breath catches in his lungs, and his heart pounds. He makes his way to the edge without incident, and looks down.

His eyes widen, and the world goes still—then fades.

 

Mandarin is in a laboratory. It is strangely familiar—but he swears he has never seen it before. The lights swirl and dance, and the shadows flit through it. A voice, so familiar yet nothing he can recall hearing, speaks.

“This portal peers into the soul of evil itself. The Netherworld.”

The sentence is punctuated by the screeches and cries of demons, and for a moment, Mandarin can almost make out their forms; gnashing teeth and soulless eyes.

“What are those nightmarish things?”

Mandarin can hear whimpering. It sounds— It sounds like his brothers-in-arms, afraid of what they see within.

Mandarin cannot make himself look away. He cannot find the will to turn and look at them, to see who else is in the room with him. There is no sense of control at all in this memory, and he hates it. He wants to see where he is, who he’s with, and what on Shuggazoom is going on here?

Shadows have swam to the forefront; watching the denizens of the lab, just as said denizens watch them.

“They are what the Veran Mystics call, ‘the Dark Ones.’ They were imprisoned, but now their evil grows out of control. This portal allows us to monitor their forces directly.”

“I dunno… Seems too dangerous.”

If Mandarin could control his dreamworld body, he would scowl. Foolish coward. To be able to directly monitor an enemy who threatens to destroy your world… that is not foolishness, it’s brilliance!

“How do you know they can’t break through?”

“Not to worry, Captain. We’re safe. That grid is utterly impenetrable.”

Hmph. Mandarin never has understood this charade of modesty, of _precaution_. If you spent enough time and energy on a product, and you were finally read to unveil it, obviously you were sure it was safe. Unless you were corrupt, he supposes.

There is a sudden shrill beeping. Mandarin blinks.

 

He finds himself back in the cave. A splash of something wet hits his head, and he closes his eyes. There are days he wishes he never climbed out of his suspension tube, and today is one of them. He opens his eyes again, and rolls out of the way just in time to dodge an attack by one of its legs. He draws his sword, and slices upward. The spider shrieks and dies as Mandarin runs his way back to the monkeys.

“I think I know how our unknown enemy is getting the spiders to Shuggazoom. The pit has a portal. I don’t know where it leads.”

“Should we check?” Otto asks. “I mean, it could just take us back home, right?”

“Or it could take us somewhere unfathomably evil.”

“Yeah, well, we have bigger problems to deal with,” Nova says grimly.

“What could be bigger than— Oh.”

Mandarin turns, and finds a horde of spiders bearing down on them.

“Nice going, Mandarin,” Nova snarls. She launches herself in the air, Mandarin growling behind her, and readies her fists for a fight. Mandarin and Otto shoot up behind them.

“Uh, guys? I’m pretty sure we’re out-numbered,” Otto says, even as he slices one with his saws.

“We can handle it.” Nova and Mandarin grunt at the same time. If there’s one thing they can agree on, it’s their superiority in a fight.

**“Mandarin? Come in, Mandarin.”**

Mandarin grunts. “We’re in the middle of something right now, Antauri.”

“Yeah!” Nova grunts. “We’re squashin’ some bugs.”

**“Spiders aren’t _bugs_ , they’re—”**

“Save it, Gibson.” Nova slams her fist into a spider’s face. It squeals and rears back, but she hits it a second time and it falls on its back; legs curling in towards its stomach.

Otto slices another in half in the background, and Mandarin slams his sword into one of their faces. It sprays him with black blood. He grimaces. The transmission cuts out, and Mandarin turns his full attention to the spiders gathered around them.

He throws himself into the fray, Nova right beside him. Otto, the only one of them with a semi long distance weapon, covers their backs; grunting in frustration. “Seriously, guys,” Otto says. “I think—” he throws his saw and slices an enemy in half, from head to abdomen, “—that there are—” he slices another’s head off, “too many!” He cuts between abdomen and chest.

Nova grins. “I dunno, Otto.” Her fists crush a spider’s head to pulp against the stone floor. “I think you’re doing—” she slammed her fists to the ground, and sent spiders flying in all directions. Mandarin and Otto took that opportunity to slice through several more, “—just fine on your own!” Her face is spattered in black blood, but she looks like she’s having the time of her life.

Honestly, it’s days like these that Mandarin wonders how it is they could possibly not get along. (She’ll do something to remind him way later.)

“Cut the chatter,” Mandarin snarls. He darts forward, sliding beneath a spider with his sword cutting through its underbelly. Blood soaks his fur and creeps between the crevices of his mechanical parts. It’s going to be hell getting that out of his fur—but he doesn’t care. “We have fighting to do.”

More and more spiders are crawling down the walls. They’re surrounded on all sides by giant fuzzy arachnids; their mouths dripping drool and their eyes wide with hunger.

The three of them fly upward, back to back.

Nova looks at Mandarin, and raises an eyeridge.

Mandarin grins.

Otto sighs.

“Double Monkey Attack!”

The two take out a large chunk of spiders in a wave of orange, yellow, pink, and blue. For a moment, Mandarin feels the elation of a successful attack thrumming through his veins—before that elation is crushed. The hole is filled in by a wave of spiders, and he can feel himself sinking.

Maybe Otto is right.

“Can we leave _now_?” Otto asks, sounding entirely done with the whole thing.

Mandarin glares at him, but he can’t really argue at this point—not without risking all of their lives. _Shuggazoom first_ , he reminds himself. That’s their directive—their goal in all of this. Even though the citizens do _nothing_ for them in return. It would be nice to be appreciated, maybe. To not be offered bananas every time they walk through the streets. They’re an intelligent team of robotic heroes—but that doesn’t seem to matter to the Shuggazoomians.

They’re content to offer them a treat for being well-behaved and call it done.

He scowls.

“Let’s go,” he says begrudgingly. “We should see what the others found.”

 

When they exit the cave, Mandarin radios Antauri. All he gets in return is static. He frowns, and tries Sprx. Gibson. None of them answer. He remembers, abruptly, the way the comms fizzled out during battle. He had assumed they just hung up, but…

“I’m not gettin’ anythin’ from the others,” Otto says, hand on his hip and head tilted to the side. “Just static.”

“Me too,” says Nova.

“We should get back to the Robot and find their last known location,” Mandarin says. “Then track them from there.”

“You got it, boss!”

Mandarin doesn’t bother to deactivate his jetpack. No point in trying to pretend that they aren’t there. Something has already gotten Antauri, Sprx, and Gibson—and he isn’t foolish enough to believe it isn’t related to what, or rather who, they came here to find. He flies over the trees; some large enough to tower over the Super Robot. Their branches are encrusted with webs; white against dark green. Spiders skitter through them—weaving new webs traversing the old. He watches, briefly, as one bites into an insect… and for a moment, he thinks he hears a sharp squeal.

Mandarin pushes himself to his limits; ruthlessly crushing the panic trying to well in his chest. His team is often bumbling, irritating, and prone to stupidity—but they are a capable fighting force. They might need to be rescued—or they may very well break themselves out of whatever trap they’ve gotten into. He doesn’t need to worry about his team.

What he _does_ need to worry about is exactly what he’s going to do when he gets his paws on the idiot who thought it was a good idea to mess with his team.

His gaze hardens, and he clenches his paws into fists. The Robot comes into sight; shining in the sun. Miraculously, it’s still untouched by spiders. Mandarin, Nova, and Otto come to a stop by the Robot’s foot. “Nova, Otto. Do a quick search around the area. See if there are any traces of the others. I’ll get Gibson’s spare scanner and their coordinates.”

“Oh, I think not.”

Mandarin turns. He sees white bone and dripping black-green claws—then: darkness.

 

The portal is there again. It is starting to become comforting, rather than strange. The colors swirl and dance, and Mandarin sways into them; their hypnotic pattern lulling his mind to rest.

His brothers and sisters whimper behind him; terrified murmurs. But even that, too, is soothing in a way. This is predictable—the world that he is to wake to is not. Who knows where he is, or why he’s there? Who knows if he is to become a spider’s next meal; if the others are already gone?

Here, they are afraid, but they are still here; behind him. At his back, under his protection.

The conversation begins a new, but Mandarin doesn’t listen. It’s faint hum in the background—two deep voices mingling with the gentle whimper of his brethren. All as the portal swirls, and shadows dance within. Some of those shadows float up; visible for the first time.

Pink and green and blue—with a hundred eyes, or none at all. They ought to be terrifying, but instead, they seem whimsical, and he smiles. Or, rather—he doesn’t. This body, for all that it is his own, is still not under his control.

The rapid beeping noise that ended his first dream is present again; loud and shrill, startling Mandarin from his meditative reverie. The creatures who have eyes widen theirs, and they dart away in a flurry. There is a dark shadow looming in the back, and Mandarin feels his chest tighten and his breath catch—

 

—and then he wakes.

He sits in a cell of—something hard, like rock. Shadows pool in the corners and little light peaks in through the bars. He is surrounded by his siblings; sprawled inelegantly across the ground, as he, himself is. He picks himself up, dusts himself off. He walks over to each of them, and touches their chests; waves his hands in front of their snouts. Each of them is alive and breathing, and he feels himself slump, raggedly. He touches his face with his hand and closes his eyes.

A burden lifts from his shoulders.

They are alive.

But they still need to get out of here. Mandarin turns towards the cell door, and walks over to the bars. Across from him, he can see three empty cells. Slightly to the left is a crater of bubbling black-and-green ooze. There are no guards—but no visible way to open the door.

But he’s still wearing his gloves. He smirks to himself, and summons his sword.

…

But nothing happens.

He frowns. Tries again. Still—nothing. He smacks his fist into his open palm, and shakes his hand a bit. He feels like a fool. He tries once more. Nothing. He lets out a frustrated grunt and kicks one of the bars; only to yelp in pain and hop around on one foot.

He stops, suddenly; grasping his injure foot, and slowly turns around; half expecting to see five smug grins.

But his brethren are still asleep.

He does not understand why he is the only one awake. By all rights, Antauri, Sprx, and Gibson ought to have woken before him. Unless… Unless someone is coming by intermittently to make sure they _stay_ asleep. Mandarin grimaces at the thought.

He hears footsteps, and freezes.

Only one set sounds natural. The others sound wet, and Mandarin is struck again by the sight of the bubbling pit of ooze, and recalls the way the spiders they had fought on Shuggazoom—but not on this strange planet—had seemed to dribble with black, viscous liquid.

Well. That was one question answered, then.

Mandarin lays back down, in the position that he had woken up in, and—hopefully—the exact spot. He closes his eyes, but strains his ears to listen; hoping to catch an explanation, or—at least an identity.

The footsteps continue; coming closer and closer… until they stop. A shadow falls over him, and he knows they stand right outside his cell door. His breath nearly catches in his throat; his eyes nearly open; he nearly twitches in some way, shape, or form—but he stills himself; breathing deeply and calling on that inner calm he practices every day with Antauri.

All for naught.

“You don’t have to pretend, Mandarin.” It’s the same voice that spoke to him just before he was knocked out. “I know you’re awake.”

The voice sends shivers down his spine—calling up an old, forgotten fear… and underneath it, a layer of grief. Mandarin swallows, and opens his eyes. He sits up, slow and cautious.

In front of him stands a humanoid—twice or even three times as tall as the average Shuggazoomian. On his chest is a box, flickering with green and red lights—below that, his organs on clear display, some of them pulsing and moving in a way that causes bile to rise on Mandarin’s tongue. His head… is that of a human skull, but for its silver coloring. His eyes are black as void, but for two red pinpricks that speak of malice. He wears purple armor and magenta boots; a tattered black cloak about his shoulders, and in his hand… a wicked bone white staff, tipped with a skull and green-yellow orb.

Flanking him are six beings, humanoid as well. They stand only half as tall as the skeleton man himself; soulless creatures of black ooze and pieces of bone. Their arms are long—too long—and their legs bent. Claws scrape the floor, leaving trails of sticky ooze.

Spiders seem but the tip of the iceberg.

Mandarin pushes himself off the floor and is struck by a realization that causes him to freeze in place. This cell—it is not carved from some craggy rock… it is… bone. He stands on bone.

He swallows, and continues moving—but slower; always with his eyes on the skeleton man and his soulless soldiers. The skeleton man smiles at him; and it is a cruel, mirthless thing. There is a sort of savage delight in his eyes that would have Mandarin backing up if he had but an inch less of pride.

As it is, he lifts his chin defiantly, and meets the gaze of the skeleton man. “How do you know my name?” He breaks the silence that has fallen, but rather than feeling brave for doing so, he feels a chill run up his spine; as if this silence was the sort that ought not to have been broken—as if this is exactly the type of creature he ought not to speak to.

Mandarin has never cared for being told what he “ought not” to do.

The skeleton man laughs. “Does it matter?”

Of course it matters. But Mandarin does not say so. “What do you want with us?” He has all of the questions, and none of the answers—and this thing does not seem keen to give them to him. But what can he do but ask?

“You were trying to interfere with my spiders. I couldn’t let you sabotage such a… beneficial scheme.”

Mandarin squints. It sounds like an answer, on the surface—but is it one? He doesn’t think so. “That’s not the whole story.”

“Ants so rarely get to hear the full story before they are crushed underfoot.” He raises one of his hands, fingers ending in claws. “Sleep.”

And Mandarin feels himself fall.

 

The portal twists, and turns. Spirals. A vortex of deep magenta, and distorted shadows. Creatures swim up to the surface; their movements almost playful. Mandarin surveys them. The body he inhabits—the memory, false or reality is entranced by them. Enthralled. They call him, and he does not know whether to answer that call, or turn it away.

Behind him, his brothers and sister whimper. He hears the voices again. Their conversation begins, and Mandarin listens dispassionately. The alarm beeps, shrill and cruel. The whimpering seems to grow in volume, as heavy bootsteps thud away.

There is a dark shadow, in the back. He squints, and leans closer. It grows. The dark shapes flee; their movements no longer whimsical or playful. They are frightened. Sense tells him that if it scares them, it should scare him tenfold.

But the dread does not creep up until the shadow takes form. It is a hand—but a hand attached to a creature too terrible to fathom. His mind cannot take hold of it’s image and from his throat tears a piercing shriek. He can think of nothing but destroying the machine. Sparks fly around him, and his siblings screeches join with his own. The portal flickers, but it is too late—

The hand flies free and grasps a man. Mandarin sees a deep hue of purple, and hears the strangled yell that tears from his throat. His heart hammers in his chest, but he can do nothing—he is frozen in terror and had he his mind he would be angry with himself; with his circumstance. But his mind is gone; it flew from his possession the moment he saw that great and terrible creature.

The hand lets go, and the man crashes to the floor with a painful thud. Something large and red, with wings that beat like thunder and a terrible eldritch roar flies through the tunnel before the sparks finish and the gateway closes. Mandarin scampers over to the man on the ground. His siblings press around him; warm fur instead of cool metal.

The man’s form flickers between Shuggazoomian and something skeletal and cruel. Shuggazoomian prevails, but there is a darkness that clings to his features. A cold sweat breaks on his brow.

When he opens his eyes, so does Mandarin.

 

He chokes on suspension gel. His fingers claw at metal, before something gives. The gel drains, and he falls to his knees on the ground. It takes him several breaths to regain himself. Shadows cling to the corners. Dim red light shines through cracks on the wall. The power is off. He is home—within the Robot. In his room. He climbs to his feet, unsteady. His legs shake. He leans against the door to his pod.

Was it all just a dream? His mind playing tricks on him?

He doesn’t think so. The skeleton man… the spiders… It felt all too real for it to have been happenstance, made up by his own mind. And who ever heard of a dream within a dream? It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility… but such things didn’t happen without outside interference.

He doesn’t think. He is far from an expert on such things—and it isn’t as if any of his teammates were either. He has no one to ask…

Well, now. That isn’t entirely true. Mandarin pushes himself back to his feet and stands under his own power. His steps are slow and shaky, but he regains his footing before he reaches the elevator. He slips down to the bridge and makes his way to his chair. Best not activate the power systems, and wake the others before he is ready to see them.

He opens up his computers, and checks the date. It is, insofar as he can tell, correct. It matches what he knows. He sinks into the cushions. Not a dream, then. At least… not all of it. Perhaps none of it. Some just happened earlier than others.

But do the others remember? Will they? Can they? How did he?

Answers are not forthcoming, but Mandarin has stopped expecting them to be. If he wants them, he must find them himself—or take them. Things in his life do not come easily, or without a fight.

 

It is at breakfast that he gets… some of his answers. The others do not remember. That is apparent… by many things.

“I think the Robot’s clock is on the fritz,” Gibson says. “The date is entirely wrong.”

“I’ll have a look at it later,” Otto offers. “Probably just needs some tune-ups.”

“Well, make it snappy,” Sprx says. “We still need to go after those spiders!”

Such a short conversation—but such a goldmine of answers. Each one was exactly what he expected—yet he cannot help but feel disappointed anyway. “Actually, I think we should stay,” Mandarin says. “The spiders are a threat… but I’m worried about who’s sending them. If they attack while we’re gone, the city will be vulnerable.”

The others trade looks. Information passes, and Mandarin watches it calmly.

“That’s a good point,” Antauri says finally. “Perhaps we ought to split up?”

Mandarin almost considers it. _Almost_. Knowing what he knows now, he might even be able to accomplish something. Probably not, though. He shakes his head. “I’d prefer us at full strength. I… sense something terrible is out there, waiting for us to let our guards down.”

There. Now they’ll listen.

And they do. He watches them trade glances yet again—he needs to nip that in the bud, before it becomes a problem—before they look at him and nod decisively.

“We’ll start prepping the Robot for trouble, then,” Otto says, and that’s that.

 

Of course, that’s just a temporary stalling technique. But one that allows Mandarin to consider all that he has learned. He has, at long last, discovered the identity of their creator… an identity that was taken from him. Twisted, until he became an abomination. Mandarin can only guess that their memories were removed—possibly by the creator himself, before his death. But somehow… Mandarin overcame the wipe. Discovered memories long buried, and unearthed them. Subconsciously. (That is worth exploring, later.) And then, when this new version of their creator—this… skeletal creature, whose spiders have fallen on Shuggazoom like a plague in recent months, tried to wipe his memories again… Mandarin resisted.

Mandarin alone.

It is… puzzling. But also… empowering.

If he is resistant to mind control, resistant to being controlled with magic… It opens a new realm of possibility. A new way of fighting, without fear of corruption. Without fearing the possibility of his mind belonging to someone else.

But it also opens up new fears. The rest of his team, and the people of Shuggazoom… they are not resistant. They cannot throw off the shackles of mind control.

Or…

Can they?

 

“You want me to what?” Gibson stares at him.

Mandarin rolls his eyes. “Run a brain scan,” he says, and doesn’t bother to bite back the frustration. Really, is it so difficult to understand? “I have an… experiment I would like to test.”

Gibson frowns. “And what, pray tell, might this ‘experiment’ of yours be?”

Mandarin scowls. “Gibson. It isn’t a request. Run the brainscan on me, and then call… Antauri and Otto in here. I want scans on them as well. Possibly the whole team.”

“Have you… discovered something?”

“Possibly.” Mandarin shrugs. “Won’t know until I get a look at the scans.” He looks at Gibson pointedly, and the blue monkey sighs. He gathers the equipment and runs the scan. Mandarin conjures images of the dreams, of meeting the skeleton man. He meditates, and focuses on them—until he is almost reliving them, as they happened. When the scanner beeps, and Gibson declares them done, Mandarin blinks awake again, and steps off the table.

“Get Antauri and Otto,” he commands.

“Are you sure?” Gibson peers at him worriedly. “You went out for a while there.”

Mandarin waves his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Minor meditative trance. I wasn’t sure how long it would take.”

Gibson stares at him for a moment longer, then slowly walks out of the lab.

Mandarin sighs. Where were all of these questions coming from? Had he not shown himself to be a strong, capable leader? What happened to them jumping to obey?

 _Perhaps they’re planning a mutiny_.

Mandarin snorts and rolls his eyes. Please. As if his siblings would ever betray him like that.

 

The brain scans don’t show anything out of the ordinary. They give no clues about the missing memories, or why he kept his memories, and the others did not. It infuriates him.

But it also guides him to a realization. He is not the leader of the monkey team because he is the oldest. He is not even the leader because he is the best—though he is, of course. He is the leader because, for some reason, his mind cannot be tampered with.

This… skeleton man, the man who was once their creator, has messed with their memories twice now. Once, he succeeded—but the spell, or whatever he used, has now worn thin, and Mandarin has begun to remember. The next time, the spell did not take at all.

 This line of thought, however, brings with it more possibilities. Namely—the Shuggazoomians. What if they are made to forget that the Hyper Force are their protectors? What if they are made to think that the skeleton man, the man infected by the creature from the portal, is the one that they should trust?

That cannot be allowed to happen.

But how to prevent it?

He needs to do some research.

 

He doesn’t get the chance. Just as he is about to tell the team he is taking a trip off-world, to consult one of the Mystics research reserves, the Super Robot’s alarm blares. Gibson wastes no time in calling up the cameras.

It reveals another onslaught of spiders. The Shuggazoomians run from them, in hordes of unorganized chaos. The spiders shoot webs, catching them in hordes and droves, cocooning them for snacks. A few sink their teeth into their victim then and there.

Mandarin curls his lip. Pathetic. After all of the attacks the Hyper Force has fended off for them, surely there ought to be a system in place. A way of ensuring the people have somewhere safe to go in case of attack. Or at the very least an organized way of running.

Though where they’re running to, Mandarin cannot possibly fathom.

“Monkeys, mobilize!” He calls, and if there is a sneer in his tone that’s no one else business but his.

 

Mandarin perches on the Robot’s shoulder and watches the clean-up crews handle the squashed-up spider gunk. He wrinkles his nose at the thick, black goo they scrub away. He’d washed the same stuff from his fur in the detoxification room in the lab. It was disgusting.

Though it did bring questions. Why would anyone use such an easily collapsed material to try and take over the world? Or destroy it?  Or whatever it was the skeleton man was trying to do? For such a genius, this is a foolish way of trying to accomplish any goal.

Unless he’s just trying to annoy them. In which case he is doing his job perfectly.

Mandarin sighs, and turns his gaze away from the ooze. He takes in the buildings. Some of them had been collapsed by the team. Nova was a force of nature, though she could stand to learn a bit of control. Most of them, however, had been destroyed by the spiders as they fought to get their webs on the buffet locked inside.

He knows that they won’t be there for longer than a week. If there is one thing to admire about Shuggazoom, it is how fast they get their repairs done. Though for a city with a history of monsters attacking its people, it only stands to reason.

It brings back his ponderings from before. A city so organized in clean up and repairs ought to be organized enough to have an escape route. So _why didn’t they_?

Was the skeleton man responsible? Was Shuggazoom his playground? An experiment, meant to test his homemade monsters to see how they fared in combat? Were the city’s leaders captured within his thrall, their minds no longer their own?

The city needed stronger leadership. Someone who would actually be able to stand up for its citizens, and do what needs to be done. Someone to guide them properly.

Mandarin sighs.

There is only one person he knows who is capable of resisting such control. Who already has experience in a leader’s chair.

And that is himself.

Convincing the team might be harder, but—he could do it. He was the strongest, the smartest, the _wisest_ monkey team member. They would see reason. He knew it.

 

 “Team. I have been thinking,” Mandarin sits at the head of the table, idly dragging his food across his plate. “About Shuggazoom City, and its people. Surely I am not the only one who has noticed its lack of strong leadership.”

Sprx snorts. “I dunno, Mandarin. They clean up our battles pretty quick. There’s gotta be someone who knows what they’re doing out there.”

“And yet, there’s no system in place for when the attack happens. The people run about like ants, scattering towards their dens in straight lines—a prime target for whatever monster would seek to prey upon them.” Mandarin shakes his head. “It’s baffling.”

“It is rather worrisome,” Antauri says. “But it is a situation that they must resolve themselves. We must simply do our best to protect them when those monsters come.”

Mandarin frowns. “That’s worked well enough for now,” he allowed, “but what if, one day, our exploits take us off world? Away from Shuggazoom? What will they do then, in our absence?”

His teammates exchange glances, looking uneasy. For a moment, Mandarin believes that he has gotten through to them. (Nothing in life, especially Mandarin’s life, is that easy.)

Then Sprx speaks up. “Uh, Mandarin? You plannin’ an off-world vacation the rest of us should know about?”

Gibson clears his throat. “Sprx makes a valid point. Our primary responsibility is to protect Shuggazoom. Why would we leave it?”

Mandarin crosss his arms. “Because there’s something bigger out there, waiting for us,” he announced gravely. “I don’t know what it’s planning.” He doesn’t. He just knows that Shuggazoom is involved—even if just as a testing grounds. “But I know that it means bad news. The galaxy is going to need every able-bodied soldier it can get its hands on. And when it does, it would be abandoning our responsibility to Shuggazoom to _not_ answer. But without strong leadership in place before then, Shuggazoom will fall. Which is why I have a proposition.”

Wary glances were exchanged once more, and Mandarin aggressively tamped down on the frustration he felt.

“We need to step in.”

“What?” Each of them recoils, the denial in their voices explosive. Mandarin endures the onslaught stoically, and waves a hand.

“Not forever, mind. But for a time. The people of Shuggazoom need guidance, and we are in the prime place to give it. After all, who understands the threats they face better than the people who fight them?” He paused, letting that sink in, before continuing. “Now, I doubt that they’ll take well to it. We may put our lives on the line for them, but we’re still little more than animals to them.” He curls his lip in a sneer.

“So we’ll have to expect a little resistance, but ultimately, I believe that this is the best course of action.” He looks at them again, still finding little more than horror in their eyes. He bites back a sigh. “I can see that you need some time to get used to this. No matter. I have planning to do.”

He turns and walked away.

 

The vision of the portal is almost calming; the swirl of color and faces before him a familiar if not welcome sight. He can hear the drone of voices behind him, but he isn’t listening. Instead, he’s staring at the portal with something like contemplation. Meeting the gaze of these dark things without horror in his eyes.

He couldn’t speak. His mouth was not his own, belonging solely to the past version of himself—a version that was so far removed from who he was now it was laughable. But he supposed that was the course of things, wasn’t it? Things changed, and when they were done, you scarcely recognized where you had once been.

It was philosophical enough to make Antauri proud. Perhaps a conversation, they would have one day.

But, despite the fact that he couldn’t speak, Mandarin was still very much aware—as that entire line of thought proved. So in lieu of speaking, he thought—

 _We’re going to be ready for you_. If this portal existed, if that hand had come through, it was only a matter of time before worse came. Whether welcomed in by the skeleton man himself or whether they came in through innocent people’s mistakes was another story entirely. Mandarin would ensure that his teammates, and the people of Shuggazoom, were not left defenseless.

The creatures inside the portal almost seem to be laughing. Their eyes mock him, speaking of secrets that he has yet to discover. Like children, taunting. _I know something you don’t know_.

Let them taunt. Mandarin would have lifted his chin if he could. The hand reached through; his past-self scattering at the intrusion. The dream was ending. All the better. He had planning to do.

 

“Mandarin.”

Two days have passed since his fateful speech. Normally, Mandarin would be furious at the amount of time it took for his teammates to accept the path he provided them. But now, he’s grateful for the time he’s been given to prepare his own plans. Not only does he need to come up with a way to communicate with the brainless fools, but he also needs to ensure that he has a clear path to victory… and then, a plan for what to do with that victory. (Though, truthfully, that is the easiest part.)

Mandarin, however, abandons his planning in favor of looking at Antauri. Antauri looks pensive—an expression more at home on his face than any other. Antauri spends too much time thinking. He always has. Sometimes it gives him a refreshing perspective on a conundrum that plagues the team. Other times—most of the time—Antauri thinks himself in circles. Far more irritating.

How Mandarin wished he didn’t need to hold his teammates’ hands.

“What do you want, Antauri?”

“Are you… certain that you wish to go through with this?” Antauri studies him the way Gibson studies microscopic slides. It isn’t a pleasant feeling.

“What other way is there, Antauri?” Mandarin doesn’t expect him to give him an answer. “If they aren’t going to protect themselves, then we have to do it for them.” He shook his head. “One day, perhaps, they’ll be able to stand on their own… but the more I observe, the more I read… the more I begin to wonder if that will ever be possible.”

He scoffs. Mandarin will _make_ it possible, if only because he refuses to be tied to a chair forever. He couldn’t even imagine the endless amounts of complaining he was going to be confronted with. So much in Shuggazoom needed adjusting. He was dreading it.

But it had to be done, and if no one else would step up to the plate… well. Mandarin would take it. He would bear it.

It was his duty.

Antauri blinks at him, long and slow, not unlike a cat. He nods, once. As if deciding something. Mandarin wonders if he’s won his first supporter. “I see. I… will speak to the others.”

Mandarin doesn’t quite manage not to smile. He does manage to push an appropriate amount of smugness in, rather than the gratitude he truly feels. Antauri will see it anyway. He’s always been annoyingly good at reading Mandarin. “Thank you, Antauri.”

He goes back to his planning.

 

They betray him. When it comes… he cannot find it in himself to be surprised. Even if he thought, for a moment, that Antauri had been swayed… Well. He knew, even at the time, that he ought to have known better. The universe wasn’t fond of simply… handing people what they wanted.

Especially when that person was Mandarin.

It seems… destined. But that does not mean that he is not… betrayed. Hurt. They lock him in a special prison, and they throw away the key. After everything he did for them. Everything he was planning to do for them.

He wonders if they at least bothered to look at his plans.

Probably not. His brothers have always been so… stubborn. He’s self-aware enough to admit that it’s a trait he shares.

These are his last thoughts, before he sinks into stasis.

Once more, he dreams. Magenta light coats his fur and softens the edges of a harsh world.

Creatures dance within, and at first, he believes that they mock him. _We saw this coming_. He can almost hear them taunting him again, laughter in their voices. _Don’t you know the doomsayers are never believed? You’re just another mad prophet. And when doom falls upon you all, you’ll be as helpless as the rest._

The dream repeats—over, and over. Their taunts change. They grow worse. Sometimes, they promise things. Mandarin pretends not to hear it all. But soon, he begins to wonder what it is they see, when they look at him. Do they see an arrogant, power-hungry monkey? Or do they see someone who was trying to do what was right by the people he was sworn to protect? Shuggazoom needed guidance. He was in a place to offer it. His mind was resistant to being tampered with, insofar as he could tell. His teammates didn’t understand.

Perhaps he ought to have been subtler. Cleverer. But he had never been all that good at subtlety. That was always Antauri’s game.

He spends a lot of time thinking of his teammates, in between the dreams. He thinks of what he’ll do to them. Of the way he’ll rage—and yell. Of the insults and curses he will spit at them. Of all the ways he could enact his revenge. Sometimes he imagines explaining—but… that never ends well, in his imagined scenarios. They are too stubborn. He is not much better.

But eventually, thinking of his teammates becomes too tiring. It is exhausting, and it is futile. Until he can escape his prison, he can do nothing—and he tortures himself thinking of it.

(The one thing he never thinks about, is staying here until doomsday. That cannot happen. He refuses to even imagine it. It’s too terrible a fate—and not one he’s deserving of. The universe, at least, can give him that, after everything it’s taken from him.

Better he be mocked, outcasted, branded a traitor, then to die helpless and alone. Unaware.)

He focuses on the dreams, instead.

Others have emerged, from Before the Portal, and After the Portal. The latter ones are the worst. Watching the man his past self would have called a father, had he the words to do so, turn into something foul; something he never wanted to be… It hurts, in a way that is altogether unexpected.

The former… They hurt, too. They taunt him with a life that he had once, and can never have again. The man who raised him, who gave him new life and siblings, is long gone. He has been replaced with bone and organs; metal and cloth. He creates twisted abominations with some dark form of sorcery and laughs at the suffering of others.

No, Mandarin far prefers the portal dreams. He likes to stare in that magenta well and watch the creatures. They have abandoned their taunts now. Instead, they seem to ask him a question, with voices he cannot quite hear, and in a language he does not understand. He thinks he knows what the question is, but he pretends he doesn’t… because he doesn’t have an answer for them.

Not yet.

 

When the answer comes, it is because of a boy.

Well—no. That’s not quite right. The answer comes on the eve of a defeat. Sometimes it seems like the most important days of his life are defeats. The loss of his father-figure, which landed him with cybernetics and a wiped memory. The loss of his siblings’ memories and the return of his, which led him down a road they did not understand. The loss of his siblings, which led him to 50 years in exile and all the pondering that brought with it.

And now the loss of Shuggazoom, his siblings, and the boy who would have been his protégé.

He meditates, on a barren rock, surrounded by shadow. In his minds eye, he sees that portal and the creatures within. It might be his imagination, but he thinks it seems clearer now than it ever did before.

Footsteps approach. He opens his eyes, and looks up at the twisted remains of his creator. He stares into those red, red eyes. Red, like his own. He bows his head, and the answer he has spent so long—too long—deliberating comes to his tongue.

“Teach me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am both very proud of and very disappointed in this particular work. On one hand, I enjoyed writing several large chunks of it, and I'm proud of the writing itself. On the other hand, during the story, I thought of several ways I could have told this particular arc BETTER and several times, I considered scrapping it entirely and rewriting it with one of those ways. Ultimately I stuck it out, though, and wrote it this way.
> 
> If I didn't have so many projects going, however, I probably would have scrapped it.
> 
> BUT, as it is, I'm kind of tired of having this sitting on my computer, unfinished, so, here you go! I hope that you enjoyed :D
> 
> You can find me at ladycravenheart.tumblr.com. My askbox is always open, and I'm always game to talk monkeys! (I also take prompts ;) )


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